


And Then ?

by zizis



Category: Holby City
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-09
Updated: 2017-11-09
Packaged: 2019-01-31 06:35:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12676374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zizis/pseuds/zizis
Summary: I dunno....just musing....





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I dunno....just musing....

Bernie looks at her watch. Thirty minutes to go. Time to freshen up ? The bathroom of the sleeping block does not have much to commend it but today at least there is some tepid water in the showers and it’s only a little brown in colour. Enough to wash the dust and sand off her skin and out of her hair. It’s been a long tough day already. IEDs are the worst. She should know. She doesn’t think she’ll ever get used to the children brought in with limbs blown away from mine blast injuries. Today it was a little girl whose foot had been blown off. Could have used the skills of a vascular surgeon, she smiles wryly to herself, as she attempts to drag a comb through her wet tangled hair.

Excitement buzzes through her as she settles down with her tablet ready for the call. She has established this particular corner as being both the most private and the best reception on the base. She watches the screen in anticipation until the signal comes through. Her now dried hair is characteristically unruly and she pushes a straying lock back behind her ear. Bang on time, the face appears on the screen. 

“Hello you.”

*********************

It has been four months now since she arrived. She is working at the army run humanitarian hospital in South Sudan. They face all sorts here. Starving children. Blast injuries. Health issues that beset a country that has been torn apart by civil war. The tools are relatively basic. None of the sophisticated diagnostic devices of her lost Holby trauma unit. Here skill, experience, and instinct count the most. And that is where Bernie excels. Her colleagues are a mixture of civilian and army medics, but it is very much an army base, albeit relaxed in ranks. She feels comfortable – after all this was her milieu for, well, decades. The conversation between them is about the now, not the past, not elsewhere. And that is just how Bernie likes it. Keeping her own private self just that. Private.

She has reverted to her formal title – Major Wolfe – but to her colleagues she is of course Bernie or Bern. They know a little of her army past. Her reputation as a talented trauma surgeon precedes her. But of her eighteen months since she was blown up by the IED they know and ask little. She jokes with them, thrashes them at poker, and jogs alongside them on early morning runs in the cool fresh air. 

But inside Bernie is aware that she is a divided soul. Back in Holby part of her was already here. And now she’s here, well part of her is still back in Holby, or at least….

*********************

Serena has left the vineyards. There was no reason to stay once both the grapes and Bernie had moved on. She’s not sure how “healed” she actually is. Whether she will ever heal. But there is more peace around her. She has found a way to let Elinor settle alongside her, in her. She knows she will carry her with her for the rest of her days. But thinks now she can perhaps manage to do that without spilling her grief in anger and resentment over everyone around her.

And it seems Holby needs her back, or so Hanssen says. Holby is in crisis. AAU is without leadership. It is time. 

So she returns. The house is cold and startlingly empty. No Elinor – but she was rarely there anyway. But also no Jason, or Bernie. It is not just the cold February air. The house misses the warmth of well, love. Love for her often infuriating and selfish daughter. Love for the challenging yet rewarding nephew. And love for….. She stops herself. She understands, really she does, why Bernie is in the Sudan, needs to be in the Sudan. But the two months they spent together in France were so…..warm. Working side by side, hands deep in grapes. Sitting together on the porch watching the night sky. Sleeping wrapped in each other’s arms. Warm. Home. Bernie. And now ? No Bernie. Cold. Home.

Early mornings are a shock to her system. There is no easing into Holby. Hanssen was not wrong. It is a mess. So many familiar and talented faces have gone. Financial crisis. Its’ very existence threatened. She thought she’d hate Nina for taking away her/Bernie’s hard won trauma unit, but even she can grudgingly see the bigger picture. Nevertheless, having had a taste of what could be done, she feels frustrated with what she and AAU can now achieve. Her precious NHS seems so worn down and fatigued.

But she is back. And she will do what she can. And her colleagues welcome her back as if she had never left, forgiving and forgetting the grief stricken monster she had become. And the biggest hug comes from Jason, who, she acknowledges, has become more of a man in her absence, wise with the wisdom that comes from looking at life through a different window to everyone else.

But Serena too feels divided. Part of her feels detached, far away, in the dry dusty North African heat.

*********************

There are only two of them today for their early morning run. Her companion is a young paediatric doctor who she has worked alongside quite a few times now. Jenny. They fall into an easy rhythm, running side by side. The light is still pale. The sun has yet to rise above the low horizon, and the dawn air is fresh after the coolness of the cloudless night.  
Jenny forges ahead slightly. Bernie notes her slim proportioned build, her long brown hair tied back and up in a ponytail. Jenny looks back at Bernie, nods her head to the side and begins up a track to the left of their usual circuit. Bernie follows and soon draws alongside Jenny who has halted, standing, hands on her hips, looking out across the plain below. A plain lined with plastic and canvas huts – the vast camp that plays home to the thousands of displaced persons the civil war has given birth to. They stand side by side in silence, taking in the enormity of the scene, the smoke trails from the early morning fires curling up into the air. Across the camp people are stirring. In a few hours it will be heaving with souls and sounds. 

“This.” Jenny says. 

And Bernie understands exactly what she means. This tragic consequence of war. This is why they are here. They look on for a while. 

“Best be getting back,” Bernie says. They have work to do.

Back at camp, in the showers, there is no room for modesty. As she towels herself dry, Bernie can’t help but notice Jenny – her lithe naked body, her perfect breasts, her neatly trimmed pubic hair. She allows herself to note that Jenny is an attractive woman, and envies her the taut smooth flesh of youth. She laughs to herself that she is now of an age where she thinks of someone, she guesses, in her thirties as being in their youth. What she doesn’t notice is the way Jenny looks at her. With admiration, and yes, with desire.

*********************

The day is long and arduous. When isn’t it ? Bernie just wants a cool shower and to collapse on her bed. She closes her eyes to take a moment before she heads off. 

“Fancy a cold beer ?”

She opens her eyes to see Jenny.

“I know a good place in town. Not too far.”

Bernie shrugs. “Why not,” she replies, “Just need to shower and change first.”

It’s not a bar she’s been to before. Mostly locals, just a few faces she recognises from the base. The beer is weak and harmless, but it is wonderfully cold and welcome. Bernie realises she’s never had an actual conversation with Jenny before, not a one to one anyway. She’s curious.

“So Jenny. What brings a young talented doctor like you, here ?”

Jenny eyes her cautiously. Then smiles. It is a broad warm smile.

“The usual stuff. Social conscience, a feeling that I can make a difference,” she pauses and laughs softly, “All that and … nursing a broken heart of course.”

Bernie nods sagely. 

“Ah yes. That.”

Not for the first time she reflects that it’s not just the encampment spread across the plain that plays home to displaced persons.

They talk on. Conversation is surprisingly, at least to Bernie, easy. They talk about their training, places they’ve worked. One beer follows another, and another. Until the conversation shifts again.

“You never said why you were here, Bernie ?”

And Bernie falls silent. She doesn’t know how to explain – Elinor’s death, Serena’s grief, Serena’s leaving, losing the trauma unit. Jenny construes Bernie’s silence as discomfort, fears she may have overstepped the mark, and lets the question go. Instead she tries to make Bernie feel good. 

“I love working alongside you, Bernie. You know, you are the most fantastic doctor.”

Bernie’s heart misses a beat as the words echo inside her. Her throat dries in an instant. She looks up at Jenny. And then she recognises it. Want. Desire. She takes a gulp. She feels temporarily paralysed as Jenny lifts her hand to stroke Bernie’s cheek, as if to pull her head towards hers. Softly she places her hand on Jenny’s, as she gently shakes her head, and guides Jenny’s hand back to the table surface.

“I’m sorry,” Jenny colours, embarrassed.

“Don’t be,” Bernie whispers. “You’re a beautiful woman and in another time…it’s just…” she trails off.

“Sorry,” Jenny repeats, “I just assumed you were gay. I’m sorry.” She tries to make a joke of it, “Guess my gaydar’s out of kilter.”

“It’s not.”

Jenny cocks her head to one side and peers at Bernie.

“It’s just…..there’s….someone else.”

“Ah. She broke your heart too ? Too soon ?”

“No. No. Not that at all. She….we….still very much…..”

“Then Bernie, what are you doing here ?”

And in that moment, with the sound of some ancient pop music blaring in the background, her glass of beer now tepid and half empty, Bernie pauses.


	2. Chapter 2

Five whole days. Together. Serena can hardly wait. She has organised it all. Vaguely half way between them, still warm though off season, she’s suggested Malta, booked a hotel outside old Valletta. Her plane lands before Bernie’s and there’s enough time to check in at the hotel, unpack a bit, before returning to the airport to meet Bernie. The room is clean and bright. The little balcony overlooks the harbour. The bed is wide and firm. She smiles. It’ll do just fine.

She returns to the airport. Bernie’s flight is miraculously more or less on time and soon there she is, her kit bag slung over her shoulder. Bernie beams the widest of smiles as she spots Serena. Still self-conscious in public places, they squeeze each other’s hands tightly. Serena feels herself drowning in the intensity of Bernie’s hooded eyes. 

“Oh Bernie,” is all she can manage.

They get a taxi back to the hotel. There’s a perfectly good bus service, but what the heck. Right now Serena is impatient to be able to shut the door behind them and take Bernie in her arms. In the taxi they say little, instead watch the new country unfold outside, their fingers firmly intertwined between them. At the hotel reception Bernie checks in.

“Welcome Mrs Wolfe.” 

No sooner is the door shut behind them than Serena’s lips are on Bernie’s, her hands in her hair, pulling her deeper into the kiss. And Bernie’s arms are wrapped around her, enveloping her.

“How I’ve missed you. ”

Bernie’s hair is still coarse with Sudanese dust, and her skin tastes of salt and sand. The slight tang of sweat clinging to her. 

“Berenice. Shower. Now.”

And Bernie obeys, stripping off, her clothes pooling at her feet. She steps into the clean tiled shower cubicle, and lets delicious hot, yes hot, water cascade over her. Afterwards, smelling of apple scented shampoo, she steps back into the bed room, her bath robe tied around her slim waist, towelling her hair dry. Serena is sitting up in bed. She is naked, her breasts only partly concealed by the crispest, whitest sheet Bernie has ever seen. Not that she’s concentrating on the bed linen. Her mouth goes dry as her desire rushes through her.

“Hussey,” she teases, letting the robe slide from her shoulders. 

Serena grins back in response, opening the sheet to Bernie as she climbs onto the bed and crawls towards her. Their lips meet and open to the other, as every inch of their skin seeks touch, to sate, for now at least, their longing. 

*********************

Three days have passed. They have walked arm in arm up and down the streets of Valletta; remarked on the beauty of the architecture – the wooden enclosed balconies, the grid layout designed to maximise shade and breeze. They’ve taken the bus out of town to the medieval citadel of Mdina, and lost themselves in its tiny alleys, eaten wedges of cake in a roof terrace café. They’ve sipped wine on their balcony watching the sun go down and the lights twinkle in the harbour. And they’ve made love – never failing to be awed as they lose themselves, soaring and falling at the touch of the other’s tongue, fingers, flesh.

But they haven’t had “the” conversation. Not yet. Serena does not want to bring it up. Not yet. Not till Bernie’s ready. She’s just not sure when she will be.

*********************

Serena has slept well. She always does with Bernie by her side. The deep satisfying sleep that comes after making love into the early hours, of drifting off to the rhythm of your love’s gentle breathing. She reaches out to Bernie, but her side of the bed is empty. She is not concerned. Knows Bernie’s need to burn off energy each morning. She will have gone for a swim. Serena smiles to herself, her mind slipping back to the sensation of the slide of Bernie’s tongue across her sex the night before. She pushes away the thoughts that try to remind her that in two days she will be home. And Bernie will be gone again.

*********************

Bernie is alone in the water. Too early still for other holiday makers. She likes it best this way. The ploughing up and down the length of the pool, the early morning light still pale. No sound but the gentle splash of her strokes. The repetition is a meditation. 

Again those words come back into her head. 

“Then, what are you doing here?” 

She knows the literal answer – saving lives, making a difference, doing what I do best. But these past few days, with Serena, with her wife…. She lets that word settle like a warm blanket around her heart. It is still unfamiliar. It is their delicious secret. Not even Cam or Lottie yet know. Know that in those two months they spent together in France, in the vineyard, they were married. Promised their love to each other and only each other. Their only witnesses the local baker and café owner. Mrs and Mrs Wolfe, the hotel register states. They’ve kept their names professionally, but legally… Serena was only too glad to ditch Edward’s name from her personal life now Elinor no longer needed it. She whispers their names into the water. Mrs and Mrs Wolfe. But in two days she’ll be on her way back to the Sudan, and Serena to Holby ? And then ?

*********************

They take breakfast on their balcony.

“Nice swim ?” Serena asks.

Bernie nods and leans across to touch her lips gently against Serena’s.

“I think we need to talk,” Serena says.

“We do,” Bernie sighs.

“Much as I hate to break the spell of these last few days, in a few more we’ll be on different continents again. And how long before next time ?” she pauses, “Where are we going with this Bernie ?”

“Home,” Bernie replies simply.

Serena looks at Bernie. She searches her face, and waits.

“Being here with you Serena….I thought I could only be me out there, serving again. I love the work, the way of life even. But what keeps me going is the thought of you. I live for our skype calls – for a brief moment when I can be with you once again.” 

She reaches out, her fingers toying with Serena’s still hand. She can hear her breathing, waiting. She continues softly.

“And it’s not enough. Not anymore. Just to see and hear you over some fuzzy tenuous connection. I want to touch you, breathe you. You are where I want to be. You are my home. Where you are, is where I belong. So when this current tour ends in two months, may I,” she pauses, “may I come home ? ”

Serena is silent. She looks at her. Sees a tear trickling down her cheek and feels it mirroring her own. The tear is assent enough. Bernie leans in and wipes it away, stroking her thumb across Serena’s cheek. She takes a deep breath.

“And then we’ll work it out from there. Together. Mrs Wolfe.”


End file.
